More about You
by AneurysmIncoming
Summary: Prompt: Think about a teacher who inspired you. What would you say to them if they walked through the door right now? One shot within the 'They Came from Beyond' continuity. Clayton struggles with meaning. His enigmatic professor, Rowan Barnaby, enlightens him.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing aside from the OC's and that's probably debatable.**

_**More about You**_

* * *

Clayton Biggilsby jabbed his quill into the parchment in anger. He swore to himself, as he reached into his pouch to grab a replacement. He flattened the fresh parchment on the desk, raised his quill again. He held it over the parchment for a moment, willing it to start writing of its own volition. Perhaps the powers that be would take mercy on him and inspiration would strike.

Nothing.

'_Typical._'

The ancient runes he was trying - and predictably failing - to decipher refused to surrender their meaning to him. The symbols were written with harsh strokes that were unyielding, yet the sturdy script curved in an almost flirtatious manner, beckoning him.

They teased him.

He had to analyse that thought for a moment. He'd reached the point where he was anthropomorphising his own homework. _And it had a 'come hither' look._

Clayton suspected that airing thoughts like this was why his fellows thought he was a daft bugger. Probably a bit of a ponce too.

'_Well, they can bugger off! Who needs plebs like them?'_

He shook his head, to clear it of cobwebs. He couldn't let the moment of self-awareness distract him so it was promptly forgotten.

He chewed on his quill - though it was closer to grinding his teeth - in thought. Sunlight peeked through the windows of the great hall. It was early still, so he had the place to himself. Well, almost. Unfortunately, he was stuck with the company of these _infuriating_ runes.

The doors of the great hall burst open - to Clayton's embarrassment, he squawked and fell out of his seat - and the ancient runes professor bustled through. One hand within the pocket of his waistcoat, his thumb awkwardly jutting upward, the other curled under his chin in apparent deep thought.

'_Just the man I need to see!'_

He quickly gathered up the loose parchment and the rest of his stationary and strode to the teacher's table, where his professor pulled out a chair, still muttering to himself.

"Professor Barnaby! Sir?", he waved his hand awkwardly in his professor's face, trying to get his attention.

"Hmmm?"

Barnaby looked up at him, absent-minded, still fingering his waist-coat pocket and chin, surprised to be reminded that, yes, there were in fact other people that existed. He seemed to take this realization in his stride, thankfully.

"I give up!", Clayton hadn't meant to state this so baldly but quite frankly he was at his wits end. Why put up with a form of language that teased and wanted to bed him instead of just..just communicating something coherent!? He ignored the soft, reasonable voice in the back of his mind, explaining that this probably said more about him than the runes themselves.

The professor stared at him for a moment, with polite interest, almost amused. "Well, give it here then."

Clayton threw the parchment unceremoniously onto the breakfast table. Barnaby withdrew a monocle from his pocket. He picked up the parchment with his withered hands and peered closely at it for a moment.

"Ah.", he stated this with a certain blase', as if he had already settled the issue.

"Ah?", Clayton wished he shared his professor's insight. Or that his professor would _at least_ share it with him.

"...The young ones often struggle with these.", Barnaby handed the parchment back to him, the issue apparently resolved. Clayton didn't take it.

"Sir, you're not helping.", Clayton was surprised by his own disrespectful tone, but his frustration was mounting. He hated these games. Barnaby always had an odd teaching style, as if he expected his students to find his lesson's within themselves. This time Clayton was in no mood to indulge him.

His professor tapped his aged fingers on the table for a moment, weighing his next words. Finally, he spoke, "What did I say on your first day in my class?"

It seemed the professor wasn't going to be direct, so Clayton had no choice but to play along. Odds were that he was trying to lead him to the answer though. "Translations are often subjective."

Barnaby shook his head, waving his hand, inviting him to elaborate. Seemed he wanted the quote rather than the general thrust. "The runes say more about us than themselves?"

"Exactly. These languages in their original form are often lost to us, but language itself never dies out, so it transforms." Clayton looked at him nonplussed so he continued.

"Often we don't translate. We _interpret_.", he went on. "The runes shift their meaning for the person deciphering it. A meaning more suited to them, that they need to understand rather than finding meaning in the words themselves. It's a personal journey. A quest if you will.", he waved his hand again. This time in dismissal. It seemed this was the best that Clayton was going to get.

He thanked the professor and went back to his seat, cursing as he went. Once he was organised again, he stared at the script, balefully.

'_A meaning more suited to them, that they need to understand rather than finding meaning in the words themselves.'_

Clayton reflected on his professor's words, they were in his head, written into his mind with the same unyielding yet flirtatious script as the runes.

Beckoning him.

A realization dawned within Clayton. The same way the sunlight peeked softly through the windows of the great hall.

The script wasn't flirtatious. It was inviting. It wasn't teasing him. It was teasing something out of him. The inspiration finally struck, and he began to write. Not in the furious manner as before but with an enthusiasm that washed over him in waves. An awareness drifted into his mind and this time, he listened to it.

'_I know why I'd struggle with these.'_

__His professor was leaving the great hall as he finished. Clayton strode to him with confidence and he grabbed his attention.

The same surprise as before was on Barnaby's face, and it resolved into the same acceptance of the realization. "Sir...Thank you. For encouraging me to work this out on my own."

The professor nodded and smiled.

The parchment carried under Clayton's arm held his work. The handwriting, an unyielding script.

On the page itself, the answers were written.

'_These runes mean Mindfulness, Insight and Self-Awareness.'  
_


End file.
